


Hand in Hand

by Lys ap Adin (lysapadin)



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Hand Kink, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-25
Updated: 2012-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-12 21:37:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysapadin/pseuds/Lys%20ap%20Adin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takao has a real kink for Midorima's hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hand in Hand

Kazunari isn't the slightest bit afraid to own it: he's got a serious thing for Midorima's hands. But think about it, really _think_ about it—who can blame him? Midorima has _amazing_ hands. Artist's hands. A musician's hands. The day that the idle chatter during practice brings to the surface the fact that Midorima plays the piano, Kazunari is absolutely, completely unsurprised. It _fits_ , and he tucks that tidbit away against the day he'll be able to coax Midorima into letting him witness the sight of Midorima seated at a piano, back straight and untaped fingers poised over the keys.

Midorima's hands are long, the fingers slender, in perfect keeping with Midorima's height and sleek build. Like Midorima himself, they disguise their strength and the power that he has honed in countless hours of unceasing, relentless practice. Midorima does not look as though he should be able to shoot those astonishing three-pointers of his over and over from anywhere on the court for the length of a game, and it's that fact as much as the points mounting up on the scoreboard that cows their opponents the most. His hands are well-proportioned, broad but not too much so across the palm; his wrapped fingers are just the right length to curve around a basketball or hold the day's lucky item or push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

Kazunari loves to watch Midorima's hands in action, the smooth flex of bone and tendon and muscle beneath his skin, the shapes his knuckles make when Midorima grips the ball, the knobs of his wrist bones, the curve of his fingers when he releases the ball to send it floating through the air and swishing through a basket half the court away. He loves the sight of Midorima's fingers, pale against the orange of the ball, and the perfect smooth ovals of Midorima's fingernails, rosy nail beds meticulously cared for, and the sight of them carefully taped against the possibility of injury. Actually, he may love that best, the careful bandages that outline and conceal, hinting at the truth while hiding it away, the same way the suggestion of a bare nape is far more erotic than the sight of a lover's bare body.

Midorima doesn't understand any of this, but the sad truth is that he doesn't understand a _lot_ of the things that Kazunari had taken for granted as self-evident before high school, before sharing a team and wearing the same jersey as one of the members of the Generation of Miracles. Kazunari prefers not to think about what that means very often because it only makes him angry and there is so little he can do about it now. Midorima doesn't understand it, but sometimes, when the stars are properly aligned and he's in just the right humor for it, he's willing to indulge Kazunari in this. And since Kazunari made damn sure that the first time was just as good for Midorima as it was for him, if not better, the stars seem to be lining up more and more often to put Midorima in the mood to grant Kazunari liberties.

Kazunari's favorite one of those is this: settled between Midorima's knees on the floor of his bedroom (Midorima's parents are never, ever home; Kazunari halfway suspects them of being mythical). He takes Midorima's hand in his own and peels away the layers of concealing bandage to show the skin beneath. Midorima untapes his fingers for so few things that Kazunari can count them off on the fingers of one hand: games, showers, the bathroom, caring for his nails, and this thing that is Kazunari's and his secret. Midorima watches him unwind the wrappings for each finger; behind his glasses, his eyes are dark. Hooded.

He doesn't know whether he's supposed to realize how very big a deal this is to Midorima, so he carefully pays no attention to the way Midorima is already breathing faster or the faint tremors of tension in the hand he holds between his own. Instead he raises Midorima's hand and kisses it, brushing his mouth over Midorima's knuckles one by one and parting his lips just enough to let Midorima feel the tip of his tongue and to get that first taste of Midorima's skin for himself. He runs his lips down the backs of each of Midorima's fingers, lipping each one delicately from knuckle to nail and taking his time about it. By the time he turns Midorima's hand over, the way Midorima is breathing has changed again, turned deeper, and the tension has gone from his fingers.

Kazunari begins in earnest then.

He kisses the inside of Midorima's wrist, open-mouthed so that he can lap at the place where the pulse beats fast beneath delicate skin. He draws a spiral against Midorima's skin with the tip of his tongue, clockwise and then counterclockwise for balance. He follows the faint blue tracery of a vein up to where it disappears beneath the rosier flesh of Midorima's palm and laps at the hollow of it, heart line and head line, fate line and life line, though Midorima, oddly enough, has no use at all for palmistry. Midorima's palm is rough in places with the tough calluses that betray the hours upon hours he spends practicing. Kazunari's lips catch against these; the sensation makes them tingle.

Kazunari drags his tongue along the length of Midorima's index finger, and for the first time since he settled between Midorima's knees and took up his hand, Midorima makes a sound, the barest hint of a gasp. Kazunari kisses the pads of his fingers, tasting each of his fingers in turn. Every time he does this, he yearns to nibble on the soft tips of them and must resist that urge. (He knows without needing to test the theory that the feel of teeth against his fingers would alarm Midorima instead of exciting him.) Instead he sucks at the pads of Midorima's fingertips and watches Midorima's eyelids flutter heavily behind the lids of his glasses and the white edge of Midorima's teeth where he bites down on his lower lip. When Kazunari closes his mouth around the tip of Midorima's index finger and sucks, Midorima gasps again.

Kazunari sucks delicately, flicking his tongue against the pad of Midorima's finger, tracing the shape of it, watching Midorima as he slides his mouth down a little at a time. Midorima bites his lip until all the color leaves it, grips the blankets in his free hand, and still groans when Kazunari slides his mouth all the way down and _sucks_. Kazunari hums to him, pulling up slowly, and does it again, this time with both Midorima's index and middle fingers. Midorima groans again. His face is flushing now and Kazunari can see the way his cock is tenting the front of his slacks. Kazunari hums to him again and wraps his mouth around Midorima's ring finger, too. Three fingers at once crowds his mouth and makes it difficult to guard Midorima's fingers from the edge of his teeth, but the challenge is worth it, _entirely_ worth it, when Midorima finally groans his name and the word _please_ like a prayer.

Kazunari slides his mouth off Midorima's fingers and kisses the tips of them again, even as he's busying himself with undoing Midorima's fly and sliding his cock free of his underwear. This thing Kazunari has for Midorima's hands works almost as well for him as it does Kazunari: Midorima's cock is hard beneath his fingers, slick and wet even before Kazunari leans forward to close his lips around the head of it and slide the flat of his tongue against him. He moves his tongue slowly, tracing it over soft-hot skin and sucking softly while Midorima gasps over him, sucking in deep, hoarse breaths like he's running a race. Kazunari mouths him gently until Midorima groans again and slides his fingers into Kazunari's hair to cup his head and hold him for it when he rocks his hips forward.

Kazunari knows the shape Midorima's fingers are making around the shape of his skull as the weight of Midorima's hand presses him down. It's the same shape they make around the curve of a basketball, the same shape Kazunari has seen probably _thousands_ of times by now. He groans as Midorima's cock slides between his lips and over his tongue, groans while Midorima holds him and fucks his mouth, the slow rocking of his hips echoing the way his fingers slid in and out of Kazunari's mouth. Kazunari comes off then, easy as that, his cock throbbing in his pants with the heat that punches through him, all without his having even to touch himself. He groans around Midorima, helpless to do anything else when Midorima is holding him like this, his bare fingers curving around Kazunari's skull and his cock heavy on Kazunari's tongue. Midorima's eyes go wider for just an instant before he squeezes them shut and floods Kazunari's mouth as he comes. It's enough to drag another pulse of heat through Kazunari as he watches Midorima shudder through his pleasure, more open and unguarded in this than he is anywhere else. He doesn't let Midorima slide out of his mouth until long after Midorima has sagged against the uncertain support of his free hand and is stroking his fingers through Kazunari's hair. Even then, all he does is lean his cheek against Midorima's knee, content to stay there for as long as Midorima will let him.

He's pretty sure it's not his imagination that the period of Midorima's forbearance, those minutes before he shifts away from Kazunari, gets a little longer each time they do this, which is all the encouragement Kazunari needs to keep it up.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments are a delight!


End file.
